


The Morning After

by bossy



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types, Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Genre: M/M, No actual sex, Written in 2008, also bad science, don't read this if you're easily grossed out, rated mature for language and sexual concepts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossy/pseuds/bossy
Summary: There are ants everywhere.





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> I found this on my old computer and it wasn't ready for publication, but I don't even know how i'd begin to edit this. It's pretty dialogue heavy like I hadn't finished adding details, but eh, I still like it.

Ants are eating your come.

It’s the first thing you see when you open your eyes: a writhing mass of black scampering across Tyler’s stained floorboards, edging in on the trails of your come like they’re the mosh pit and your come is the stage. They’re crawling on top of each other, knocking each other over, all to get a bite of your come in their pincers. You stare at them in a sleep-numb haze.

The only thing you’re thinking is, that can’t be good for them.

“That fascinated by your own bodily functions? Jesus, man, you need to get laid more,” Tyler says, looking over at you from the doorway. “Get yourself a fuckin’ dildo. Hell, take Marla’s, she’ll never notice.”

He’s vigorously brushing his teeth, only with the water that comes out of his pipes, they can’t be getting any cleaner. You watch him stop to spit out a tooth.

“I was just thinking how this is our own little version of our corporate world, right here,” you say, watching Tyler for a reaction. “How I used to be one of those insects, fighting for a piece of someone else’s come. Fighting to suck my boss’s dick.”

Tyler nods, stepping closer to you. “And where am I in this metaphor?”

“A red ant. You’re a red ant,” you say decisively, watching a few more ants scuttle over to the rest.

“Wrong,” Tyler says.

He leans down and spits onto the pile of come and ants, more blood and saliva than water or toothpaste. You’re not sure Tyler even uses toothpaste. The ants all immediately scatter in different directions, frantic like they think the world is ending. A few don’t move, and you realize they’re dead. They drowned in your come. 

“You see that?” Tyler asks you. “That’s what I am. The wad of reality that makes them lose the direction in their life.”

“I think I’ll be okay if you never spit on my boss, Tyler,” you tell him, flicking an ant off your forearm. 

“So the come is your boss now? Interesting,” Tyler retorts. “The same guy you said you’d fight. I think the guy deserves to meet me."

“You’re not coming to work with me,” you try to tell him, only you know how he’s going to reply the minute you say it. “No. Tyler, I need this job.”

“Really?” Tyler asks. “I don’t think you do. I think you can let it go. I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?” You ask him, watching another ant scurry back into the pile of your come and drown itself. “I’m not cleaning that.”

“You’re cleaning it,” Tyler says, “and we’ll do it on the same day. You go to work and get yourself out of your job, get yourself a nice pension to go with it, while at the Belmont Hotel, I’m doing the same thing. Think about it. I don’t have a night job, you don’t have a day job, we’re both in the house at the same time.”

Even more ants are heading back toward your come. 

Tyler says, “Look. Do you want to be like them, going right back to corporate slavery after I set them free?”

“They’re just hungry,” you say. “They need to eat.”

“Money,” Tyler says. “The reason we’re in this consumerist mess in the first place. You start off needing to eat, you get greedier and greedier and end up needing a big screen TV and a personal trainer. Know why they’re eating your jizz?”

“They think it’s food,” you say, wondering where this is going.

“To them, it is food,” Tyler says. “In order for the sperm to stay alive in your semen, they need energy. Therefore, semen contains fructose. Ants, like humans, eat fructose. In fact, they can seek it out like moths to a flame. An ant’s sense of smell is as strong as a dog’s, and they don’t sleep. Want to guess where this colony’s heading the night you have a wet dream?”

“I did not need to know that,” you say, scrambling back on the mattress. “Jesus, Tyler. First it’s the South American piss-eating fish, now it’s ants wanting to climb into my dick while I’m sleeping. Jesus.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Tyler says. “There’s no way ants could stay alive inside your urethra. They’d die, and you’d get them out eventually. No big deal.”

You shudder.

“I say you stay home from work today,” Tyler whispers. “Tomorrow, you go in and give him what’s coming to him."

“You sound like fucking Marla,” you say.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Tyler asks. “You could do to learn a little from Marla, man.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you say.

“Joking,” Tyler says. “I told you, what’s between Marla and me is just sportfucking. Nothing to get jealous about.”

“I’m not jealous,” you say.

“Then clean up your own come,” Tyler says, and he leaves.


End file.
